For the Love of Brothers and Kings
by l-LightTempest-l
Summary: The Musketeers are dispatched on a mission to retrieve a missive from Louis' cousin Eleonora. They are sent to Nice to meet with her messenger and just when it seems like everything will go to plan all Hell breaks lose. Now, with one brother missing and another injured, the Inseparables must choose between loyalty to each other and loyalty to the King. Rated T just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I know I should be working on my other stories but I just haven't had any inspiration recently for them and this idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while now. This is my first time delving into the Musketeers universe. I absolutely** _ **adore**_ **the show on BBC and I was really sad when it ended. I've probably watched it about 10 times all the way through (probably more if I'm being honest with myself) and I am in love if D'Artagnan's character. I simply love him and Constance together as well, I think they are the** _ **cutest**_ **couple ever and they make me so happy.**

 **Anyway….I apologize if I'm off on the characters in this at all, like I said I've seen the show quite a few times but I have never** _ **written**_ **anything for it before so I'm still learning. I also did a lot of guessing in regards to how long it would take to get certain places on horseback seeing as there isn't really a google travel option for that (I tried, trust me). I also apologize for historical inaccuracies I'm just trying to have some fun with this and while I did try to research as much as possible I may have been off in a few spots so forgive me.**

 **Please, please,** _ **please**_ **let me know what you think of the story! I'm anxious to find out if it's any good!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I (unfortunately) do not own the Musketeers in any way. If I did, Constance and D'Artagnan would have been together a** _ **lot**_ **sooner and there would not have been a Monsieur Bonacieux.**

Paris dawned cloudy and wet. It wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence, especially not in the fall, but it was still disheartening to D'Artagnan. He was a sunshine child and preferred a hot summer's day over the cool fall rain given the choice. So it was with a sigh and exaggerated slowness he prepared for a day of very wet, very uncomfortable training. Even after almost two years as a fully commissioned Musketeer he still hated the idea of training in the rain. Being wet was probably one of his least favorite things. Aramis often compared him to a cat on rainy days, the way he would slink around the edges of the main courtyard in garrison to avoid the rain as long as possible. And then after his training he was quick to shake off as much water as he could before shedding his wet clothes for dry ones. He was also much less likely to venture to the tavern on nights when it rained.

While part of his aversion to the rain was because he did not like being wet a larger part was because of the memories the rain tended to stir up. His father died in the rain, choking and bleeding out on a muddy road in front of an inn while D'Artagnan held him. The memories hurt, no matter how much time passed. His friends were understanding of course and tended to keep a closer eye on him when it rained and were practically attached to him when it stormed. He appreciated the gesture of course but there were times he simply wished to be left alone and allowed to wallow a bit. While the desire to be left alone dissipated over time he still found solace in the quiet moments before one of his friends tracked him down on rainy days.

A loud knock at his door made him smirk slightly, _right on time_.

"It's open," he called, lacing the rest of his shirt before grabbing his doublet off his bed.

His door opened and Porthos' large frame filled the entire opening, the man was grinning widely and had his hands looped over his weapons' belt, "Mornin' pup!"

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes with a small smile, "You would think I'd have outgrown that nickname by now. I did manage to defend the King all on my own _twice_ now, and _both_ times I was restrained in some way."

Porthos' grin grew impossibly wider and ruffled the Gascon's hair, "You'll never outgrow it, _pup_."

D'Artagnan huffed in mock annoyance as he fixed his hair, leading the way out of his quarters. His rooms were just off the main courtyard but unfortunately, the kitchens were not on the same side. D'Artagnan was content to skirt the edge of the courtyard and stay dry but Porthos, apparently starving as usual, grabbed his arm and dragged him rather unceremoniously through the downpour to the other side. D'Artagnan spluttered and tried to shake off as much of the rainwater as he could when they reached the overhang just outside the kitchens, shooting Porthos an annoyed look, "You realize we could have avoided the rain, correct?"

Porthos laughed, "But then I would 'ave missed your drowned rat impression."

D'Artagnan shook his head, purposefully flinging water in his friend's direction.

"D'Artagnan, Porthos! You realize you can _avoid_ the rain, yes?" Aramis' voice was amused as he approached them, perfectly dry and looking a little too smug about it in D'Artagnan's opinion.

"Porthos decided we needed a morning shower," D'Artagnan said, looping his hands through his weapons' belt and eyeing his larger friend warily, "My protests were not taken into consideration."

Porthos bumped his shoulder with D'Artagnan's, "Aw it's not that bad! You're barely even wet."

Porthos was spared a scathing retort as Captain Treville approached them, Athos in tow behind him, "Gentlemen, I have an assignment for you. Come to my office."

Porthos groaned and looked longingly into the kitchens, "Always when I'm about to eat."

D'Artagnan snickered and Aramis quirked an amused grin as they all followed their Captain and Lieutenant up the stairs and into Treville's office.

Treville waited until the door was shut firmly behind them before speaking, "You four are to meet with a messenger from the King's cousin, Princess Eleonora of Mantua. They will meet you in Nice in three days' time to deliver a confidential correspondence for the King. No one outside of this room besides the King knows of this mission and you must not let the missive fall into the wrong hands. I will expect you back here in a week. If you have not returned by then a search party will be sent to look for you. You are to leave immediately. Dismissed."

It was probably one of their briefest mission assignments ever and while D'Artagnan had questions he also knew he wouldn't receive any answers. Confidential missions always left the most questions unanswered and while it tended to drive him a little mad he was getting better at accepting it. Most of the time.

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Twenty minutes later D'Artagnan found himself on the back of his horse riding in the rain through the congested streets of Paris. His cloak helped keep him somewhat dry but he found himself wishing, not for the first time, for a hat. All three of his companions wore hats upon their heads and while they were still damp their faces were at least free of the rivulets of water he was constantly having to wipe away. He always vowed he would buy a hat on days like this but then he would inevitably need new shoes or new shirts and before he knew it he had no money for a hat. So he simply settled for dealing with the rain and hoping it didn't last the entire mission.

Less than half an hour later the four Inseparables rode through the gates of Paris, leaving behind congested city streets for the open land beyond. They were quick to pick up their pace. While it would not take them a full three days to reach Nice they did not wish to dally either. Besides, if they moved fast enough they could spend a day or so in Nice relaxing and sleeping in real beds with decent food before making the return journey which would likely prove more arduous. While the Captain did not expressly state they should avoid villages on their trip back D'Artagnan knew they would unless the weather turned on them. There were less risks camping out for a night or two while one of them kept watch instead of venturing into town and drawing unwanted attention.

They kept to a steady trot for most of the morning, slowing occasionally to keep the horses from tiring, and the conversation was minimal. Around midday they stopped near a small stream for lunch and to let the horses rest. Thankfully, the rain let up shortly after they left Paris and while D'Artagnan still felt damp he was no longer soaking. The day was rather nice by this point, the sun shining brightly and the clouds all behind them. The air was warm but not uncomfortably so and there was a cool breeze. D'Artagnan hung his doublet over a branch in the sun while they ate, hoping the last remnants of moisture would be gone by the time they started riding again. The others all set their hats in patches of sunlight as well and unlaced their doublets but did not hang them to dry as their youngest did.

Lunch consisted of salted meat, bread and apples Aramis managed to pluck from a tree earlier in their journey. They were quiet as they ate, all of them rather hungry after missing breakfast that morning, and D'Artagnan was enjoying the peace of the moment. It was rare they were able to simply eat and relax like this. Even though they were on a mission it was a nice day, they were in no real hurry, and so far no one had attacked them.

"What do ya think the missive is about?" Porthos asked a little while later as they were beginning to collect their things and start riding again.

Athos shrugged, "I have no idea but it must be important to warrant this level of secrecy."

"Perhaps there are troubles in Mantua we have yet to hear about?" Aramis suggested and he filled his water skin in the stream and splashed his face.

"Perhaps," Athos said noncommittally, not seeming all that concerned.

"It seems strange the King would send so many Musketeers to retrieve a single missive. He must expect some sort of trouble," D'Artagnan commented, his curiosity reigniting with the conversation.

Porthos made a noise of agreement, "Very strange."

"If we are lucky the King will feel like indulging us on our return and tell us what the fuss is all about," Athos sounded like he didn't believe the words even as he said them and the rest of them shared his feelings. The King was not one to overshare, especially not as of late. The Musketeers weren't exactly his favorites at the moment no matter how loyal they remained. With Rochefort whispering in the King's ear there wasn't much they could do expect continue to follow orders and hope Louis realized what was happening.

They all mounted shortly after that and began their journey once more. They did not travel as quickly now though, content to take their time and let their lunches settle before picking their pace up once more.

"Things seem to be goin' well for you and Constance, aye pup? If all that kissin' says anythin'" Porthos winked, throwing D'Artagnan a teasing grin.

D'Artagnan felt his face heat up as he tried to shrug off the teasing, "Things are well, yes. Constance plans to tell her husband she does not want to be with him anymore."

"Truly? That's wonderful, my friend!" Aramis was quick to jump into the conversation, a wide grin on his face, "You both deserve happiness!"

"I just hope Monsieur Bonacieux does not cause her too much trouble. After the Milady incident he told her he would kill himself if she ever tried to leave him," D'Artagnan's face turned dark at the memory. Just as he and Constance were about to attempt to have a relationship over a year ago her husband injured himself to make her stay. It made him angry, just remembering that night. He was heartbroken for some time after that, unsure how to be happy if he could not have Constance.

It was Athos who spoke up this time, "A man like that would not go through with it. He does not have the courage. Constance is stronger now, after time away from him, and will not give in to him again. I believe convincing the Queen to appoint her as her confidante was the best thing you could have done for her."

D'Artagnan was inordinately pleased with his mentor's praise for the woman he loved, unable to contain the large grin spreading over his face.

"Ah, true love," Aramis sighed whimsically, "There is nothing like it I imagine."

"You find more love than anyone I know," Porthos jeered.

"But _true_ love has a certain beauty to it you cannot simply _find_ ," Aramis' tone was mockingly stern, "While the ladies I choose to spend my nights with are beautiful they cannot rival the way a woman looks when in love."

Porthos laughed and shook his head at his friend, "Always the romantic."

Aramis grinned, "Always. What else are these dashing good looks for if not to enjoy the whirlwind of romance?"

D'Artagnan laughed with Porthos now and not even Athos couldn't keep his mouth from twitching into a small smile. The four of them continued to banter for some time, the conversation and jokes easy among them. They were not called the Inseparables for nothing after all, it was rare they did not pass missions with friendly banter and conversation.

Soon though Athos was resuming their earlier pace and talking over their horses' hooves became difficult.

They traveled until nightfall before deciding to stop at the next inn they came across, all of them ready for a warm dinner, wine and beds. D'Artagnan was finding himself growing more and more weary as they rode, feeling his semi-restless night catching up to him. Another downfall of rain: he never slept well. He was more than ready for sleep by the time the next group of lights came into view.

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The inn they found was not overly large but it had a fire and food and two rooms available for them. They ate together in the common room near the fire. The bread was fresh and the stew rivaled Serge's and even the wine was better than they could have expected so far outside of Paris. By the time they finished dinner they were all content and warm and a little bit hazy. Even Athos seemed more relaxed than usual as he sat back in his chair, head resting on the wall and his hat sitting near the fire.

The innkeepers were kindly folk and were more than happy four of the King's Musketeers for the night, even offering them baths should they feel the need to clean some of the road dirt from their skin. While the idea of a bath was tantalizing D'Artagnan also knew it would be somewhat pointless until they were back in Paris. They still had plenty of riding left ahead of them and he was sure to be filthy again in no time. He did, however, accept a basin of warm water to clean his face and arms.

The rooms they stayed in were not overly large, the beds in both so close together only one person could stand between them at a time, but they were warm and they had their own beds which was not something they were always able to enjoy when traveling. D'Artagnan and Athos shared one room while Porthos and Aramis shared the other. They agreed to head out at daybreak the next morning and if they kept up their current pace they would arrive in Nice by the next night. They would have a day to recoup in Nice before the Princess' messenger arrived and they needed to ride back to Paris. If everything went according to plan they would be back in Paris within four days, two days earlier than Treville's deadline.

D'Artagnan was happy to sink into his bed that night, his body and mind tired after a day on horseback with little sleep. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Another chapter! Ya'll are lucky, work has been kind of slow and I've actually had time to write recently! Plus, I've been able to play the Musketeers on Hulu while I write which is very helpful! I tried not to rush** _ **too**_ **much in this chapter but let me know if I failed at that. I'm still figuring out everyone's personalities and writing their interactions with one another. Dialogue isn't as easy with these boys as I thought it would be unfortunately! But I simply adore every one of these characters so it's hard for me** _ **not**_ **to have a whole lot of talking amongst them! Their brotherhood is so wonderful!**

 **As always, reviews are lovely! I was** _ **so**_ **excited about the response I received on the first chapter, every review you write just inspires me even more! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the first!**

 **DISCLAIMER: Nope, still don't own them! No matter how much I wish upon a star they simply don't belong to me!**

The next morning dawned cool and clear, not a cloud in sight and for that D'Artagnan was grateful. They ate and dressed quickly and they were back on the road as the sun peeked over the horizon. There was a crisp breeze and D'Artagnan was glad for the blue Musketeer cloak he kept in his saddle bags. The others also donned their cloaks as they rode, the chill cutting through their doublets easily.

They were all a little quieter this morning, content to ride in a companionable silence. D'Artagnan found his mind wandering back to Constance as they rode, wondering what she would be doing at this time. Probably just waking up, getting ready for her day as the Queen's confidante. He was pleased to see Constance thriving in her position, having become fast friends with the Queen. He always knew they would get along well but he never could have imagined just _how_ well. He was extremely pleased with their friendship. And he found himself feeling a swell of pride for Constance herself, gaining the trust of the Queen and fulfilling her duties without hesitation.

He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like when they could truly be together. While they would not be able to marry any time soon they could still enjoy the courtship and he had no doubt in his mind the Queen would be more than willing to help them. She seemed very happy to let them have their time together, almost encouraging the affair even. It was not something he expected but he was quickly learning the Queen was a bit of a romantic if Constance's stories were anything to by.

He didn't realize he was grinning like a fool until a certain Spaniard rode up next to him with a mischievous grin on his face, "Someone is thinking of their lady love."

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes with a smile and shrugged, "Perhaps I am."

Aramis chuckled, keeping pace D'Artagnan as they wound through the countryside, "She is a lucky woman, to have you pining for her."

"It is me who is lucky, to have such a beautiful woman return my affections."

"Ah, but she has a loyal Musketeer to call her own, that is something not many can claim."

D'Artagnan grinned, "I suppose, but I can't help feeling like the lucky one. She is willing to hold me in her arms and call me hers. That is something I will never grow tired of."

Porthos glanced back at them, a wide grin on his face, "You'll be back in her arms in just a few days' time and until then, you 'ave us to keep you company! We may not be as pretty but I think we can keep you entertained."

"Speak for yourself! I think I'm rather beautiful," Aramis said with a cheeky little grin.

"Aye, but you don' 'ave the charms of the fairer sex," Porthos countered with a knowing smirk.

D'Artagnan laughed and shook his head at his friends, feeling lighthearted in a way only his friends could manage. They may be trekking across France to retrieve a letter that could very well get them killed but his friends could always make him laugh.

When he first arrived in Paris two years ago, he planned to die after killing his father's murderer. Little did he know he would accuse the wrong man and wind up with three older brothers who looked out for like no one had before. He was unbelievably lucky _these_ were the men he met upon entering Paris. There was no telling where he would be otherwise. That was a lie, he would probably be in an unmarked grave with no one to mourn his passing.

"What do you think that bloody Rochefort is doing right now?" Porthos asked some time later when they slowed again.

It was nearing midday and they were searching for a place to stop and eat. The weather was much warmer now, the sun's rays burning off the chill of the morning and all of their cloaks were stowed away in their saddle bags once more. Nice was less than a half days' ride at this point and they were all eager to reach their destination before nightfall.

"Probably whispering in the King's ear, telling him how awful we are and insinuating we'll fail at this mission," Aramis said with a small sigh, "That man is a snake."

"I agree. 'e's poisoning the King against us for 'is own benefit. I don't trust 'im," Porthos grumbled, his face dark as he thought of the Comte.

The Comte was a constant companion to the King these days, easily turning Louis' affections from the Musketeers and making them seem incompetent every chance he could. It was maddening and they all wished there was something they could do to stop it, but it seemed the more they tried to prove to Louis they were loyal and capable the more Rochefort managed to turn him against them.

"He makes the King doubt our abilities," D'Artagnan couldn't keep the anger from his voice. And he couldn't keep his mind from wandering back to the bloodied floors of the ballroom where King Louis demanded he kill a man and practically called him a traitor when he refused. He still stood by his words though: he was a soldier, not an executioner.

"The King listens because he is frightened. It is our duty as Musketeers to ensure those fears are unfounded," Athos' serious voice carried easily to all them even as he rode ahead of them, "However, I agree Rochefort is a snake. He whispers lies to the King to keep him close. As long as the King believes Rochefort can protect him, the longer he can keep his position at court and his power."

"We have to find a way to show the King he isn't the man he believes," D'Artagnan was not a fan of liars and cheats and in his mind, Rochefort was even worse than Richelieu. At least the late Cardinal was open with his hatred toward the Musketeers. Rochefort pretended to be a man of noble character when he was anything but.

"Doing so will be difficult. The King _trusts_ him. We need irrefutable evidence before we can make any accusations," Athos slowed now, riding alongside the young Gascon, "Remember, head over heart. That doesn't just apply to swords and fists."

D'Artagnan nodded, "You're right but how are we going to find such evidence? We hardly know anything about Rochefort."

"We must have patience," Aramis rode up alongside Athos now while Porthos came on D'Artagnan's other side, "The Captain has not been idle all this time. He has resources and informants. I'm sure once he knows something for certain about our dear Rochefort he will take the proper steps to removing him from court. Until then, we must have faith good will triumph over evil."

Porthos chuckled, "Your romantic side is showin' again, Mis."

Aramis winked with a wide grin, "Always, Porthos. Always."

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They reached the main gates of Nice as the sun was just beginning to duck behind the horizon. The shadows were long and the air was cooling once more. Clouds were rolling in as well, promising more rain before their journey was complete. The inn they found was home to a tavern downstairs and had ample space for the four of them. It was one of the nicer places they'd stayed while on a mission and D'Artagnan was enjoying being somewhat spoiled, even if it was only for the night.

Warm food, good wine and pleasant conversation were the highlights of the evening. Porthos even managed to find himself a card game while Aramis busied himself flirting with the innkeeper's daughter. D'Artagnan watched his brothers with a smile, content to sip wine and chat with his mentor. All in all, it was a very peaceful evening and a welcome reprieve before the next leg of their journey began.

They shared rooms again, not because it was necessary but because it was safer. D'Artagnan always slept better in foreign places with one of his brothers in the room and he knew they shared the sentiment. It was nice to know the man in the room with you would have your back should things go sideways. He shared with Athos like before while Aramis and Porthos were three doors down from them. They were all rather quick to fall asleep that night, the beds proving to be exceptionally comfortable and warm.

The next day was spent relaxing and simply enjoying each other's company. Porthos found more card games, Aramis found more women and Athos found more wine. D'Artagnan spent quite a bit of his time simply wandering the streets and soaking up whatever sunshine he could. It rained for part of the morning but thankfully cleared up before they had lunch and D'Artagnan was more than happy to spend his time outdoors enjoying the weather. Their contact was due in that night, under the cover of darkness and they were to meet him just outside the main part of the town. They would spend one more night in Nice before heading out at dawn the next day and riding hard back to Paris.

D'Artagnan was beginning his stroll back to their rooms as the sun began to set that evening and he found himself itching to be back on the road to Paris and Constance. He wanted to be there when she told her husband about them, worried he would act out in anger. He was not a brave man by any means but he _was_ a jealous one. And very possessive of her. While D'Artagnan didn't think he would do anything too rash, he didn't discount the possibility of some sort of retaliation from the man.

"D'Artagnan! There you are! I was beginning to think we would have to drag you back inside," Aramis called as the Gascon walked through the front door of the inn.

All three of his brothers were already seated at the same table from the night before, steaming plates of food in front of them and a bottle of wine settled between them all. While they wouldn't be able to truly indulge in the wine tonight as they did the night before, there was no reason not to have a small amount to wash down their dinner.

He joined his friends, a plate of food quickly appearing before him, and dug in, "I was simply enjoying the good weather and beautiful scenery."

"The scenery here is quite spectacular," Aramis said with a wink and a glance at a few of the barmaids in the room.

Porthos guffawed, "I think 'e meant the landscape, not the women, Mis."

"Oh, yes, I suppose that's quite lovely too."

"How would you know? I don't think you've stepped foot outside the inn all day. Too busy with your own scenery," Athos drawled with a very amused look on his face.

Aramis grinned cheekily, "I was informed by my company today the land here is quite spectacular. I simply took her word for it."

They all laughed at this, finishing up their meals and preparing to head out. It was already beginning to grow dark outside and they wanted to make sure their meeting place was secure before the Princess' courier arrived.

Their horses were already outside waiting for them, saddled and ready. They mounted quickly and wound their way through the town to the far edge before riding quickly for a little over twenty minutes. Their meeting spot was in a small clearing surrounded by a thick wood and hidden from the road. None would see them unless they knew exactly where to look, perfect for clandestine meetings with royal couriers.

They had about an hour to spare after their arrival and they spent most of it scoping out the surrounding woods and ensuring none had followed them to the location. Athos remained in the center of the clearing when the time drew closer for the meeting while the rest of them scattered in the trees to keep watch. Aramis noticed the approaching horse first, letting out a low whistle to let the others know. The rider was moving quickly, bent low over his horse and seeming to be in quite a hurry. He veered off the roadway at the last moment and wasted no time moving to their meeting place.

Athos and the courier spoke in hushed tones for a few moments before separating. The courier took off once more away from Nice while the four Inseparables regrouped in the clearing. Athos inspected the letter he was in charge of protecting briefly before slipping into the folds of his doublet, out of sight from any prying eyes. D'Artagnan knew that letter would not see the light of day again until it was being placed in the King's hands back in Paris.

"Well, he didn't stay very long," Aramis commented as they made their way through the trees toward the road.

"He said very little. Merely handed me the letter and wished me luck before he took off once more," Athos sounded like he was trying to decipher an especially complex riddle which, D'Artagnan supposed, was somewhat true.

None of them knew why this particular letter was so important. Sending four Musketeers to retrieve it was already puzzling enough but the courier's apparent need to get away only added to the strangeness of the whole situation. D'Artagnan wished their King was a little more open about such matters but he knew it was not his place to question such thing. And so he rode with his brothers back toward Nice with more questions than answers.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay guys, sorry for the delay and semi-short chapter! I have been working a** _ **ton**_ **and there's that nasty flu going around and I'm pretty sure my body is fighting it (I cannot sleep enough, I swear). I hope to have more regular updates as I continue but I can't promise anything with my job being what it is! I will try though, I promise!**

 **I love all the response I've been getting from ya'll! It makes me smile every time my phone dings with a new review or favorite or follow. It inspires me to keep going!**

 **Reviews are love!**

 **I own nothing still.**

 **THREE**

The night passed quickly, D'Artagnan finding it difficult to sleep with the letter now in their possession and judging by the constant moving from the other bed in his room he didn't think Athos slept much either. Before he knew it they were all up and getting ready for the return trip to Paris. Food was packed and the horses were all saddled and they were on the road as the sun began to rise. The morning was the coldest so far and the wind managed to seep through even his thick cloak as they barreled toward Paris.

For hours they alternated between a full gallop, a slow trot and a fast walk. They didn't want to wear the horses down completely when they had so far to go still but the need to be back home was great in all of them. Being on the road meant being in constant danger and while they were more than capable of handling themselves, they couldn't deny the nerves they felt whenever they traveled with items of such importance.

Their conversations were very limited as well, even when they traveled slower to let the horses rest. There was a tense air all around them and D'Artagnan couldn't shake the feeling _something_ was going to go wrong. It always did. While their first day passed without incident and their first night ended without a problem the second morning of their return trip dawned bleak and wet. Rain fell in sheets around them, worse than the day they left Paris, and the air took on a bitter edge, slicing through this cloak and reaching to his bones. It was miserable.

D'Artagnan didn't seem to be alone in his opinion either. Their pace was slower due to the weather and he could sense the discomfort radiating off his friends as they traveled. None of them were overly fond of how the weather turned on them so suddenly, it was a bad omen and could only bring trouble.

Unfortunately, their misgivings were proven true just after they decided to start looking for somewhere to wait out the worst of the rain. The deluge of water drowned out most noise but nothing could cover the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Aramis jerked in his saddle, his hand immediately going to his right shoulder before he toppled to the ground.

"Ambush!" Athos' shout was nearly drowned out but it was hardly needed. Porthos and D'Artagnan were already swinging around to face their attackers the moment Aramis started to fall while Athos hurried to his friend's side.

Seven riders were closing in on them. Quickly. There was no way they could take them all on, not with Aramis already down. But D'Artagnan didn't think there was any way to outrun them either. They were already so close. He cast a desperate glance to Porthos, who seemed to have reached the same conclusion, "Go! Give me your spare pistol, I'll hold them off long enough for you to get away and meet when I can."

Porthos shook his head angrily, "I'm not leavin' you 'here!"

"Aramis needs help and Athos won't be able to handle it on his own, you know that. I'm the best rider, I can hold them off long enough for you to find somewhere to lay low before I lose them. I _will_ find you," D'Artagnan was already holding his hand out for Porthos' pistol, knowing there was no other option and knowing his friend would realize this.

It took less than a minute but it felt like forever before Porthos finally cursed and pulled out his spare pistol, handing over to the Gascon, "You better find us, pup, or I'll kill ya myself."

D'Artagnan gave his friend a tight smile as he took the pistol, whirling toward the incoming riders. He held up the weapons and aimed, managing to take his target down as Porthos moved to help Athos. He drew one of his own pistols and fired that one as well, felling another rider. By this point, Porthos was already hauling Aramis into his saddle, preparing to take off with his precious cargo. Athos hesitated a moment, looking back at the youngest of their group, before cursing and grabbing Aramis' abandoned reins and pulling the rider less beast after him as he followed Porthos on his own horse.

D'Artagnan managed to shoot one more rider down with his final pistol before wheeling around and taking off after his friends. With the rain they were already out of sight and he took advantage of that, steering their attackers in the opposite direction of where his friends went. He knew it was possible they wouldn't all follow him but since they had no idea where the rest of his group went he was hoping they would take the chance he was stupid enough to go straight back to them.

Thankfully, this seemed to be the case and before long he was leading them on a wild chase through the woods in the opposite direction he saw his friends go. He wound through the trees and over a hill or two before he could no longer see them behind him. He did not head back toward the road immediately though, worried they would still be looking for him and possibly follow him back. He was grateful for his caution when he two of the riders through the trees to his left as he wound through the woods once more. They did not seem to notice him though and he moved slowly so as not to draw their attention.

Unfortunately, he was so focused on the two he _could_ see he didn't notice three coming up from behind him. It was the sharp prick of a sword at his back that alerted him to the presence of more enemies. He stilled immediately, automatically starting to formulate some sort of plan to escape these men.

"Where are the rest of yer friends, _boy_?" one of the riders was slowly moving in front of him as he spoke, his voice carrying the promise of pain and his eyes dark as he took in the Gascon.

The rain was finally letting up and D'Artagnan could make out more riders approaching through the trees. He cursed inwardly, there was more than just seven of them. D'Artagnan wasn't sure where the others came from but he was glad he sent Porthos and Athos away to treat Aramis. There was no way they could have handled this many enemies at once while protecting their friend. No matter how good they were.

"Long gone by now," he told the man in front of him, meeting his eyes without flinching.

The sword was pressed into his back a little bit harder but he didn't react in any way, refusing to give this man the satisfaction, "I doubt that. They wouldn' jus' leave you behind."

D'Artagnan smirked, "You don't know that."

"I know Musketeers don' leave each other behin'. 'Specially one young as you," the man eyed D'Artagnan critically now, "Ya can' be old 'nough to be a real Musketeer. Unless they're lettin' children in now."

D'Artagnan glared now, "I'm not a child and I think you'll find I'm very much a _real_ Musketeer."

The man chuckled darkly, "Either way, yer comin' with us," his eyes darted to someone behind D'Artagnan and he had no time to react before someone slammed into the base of his skull sending him reeling into oblivion.

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Porthos didn't like this plan. Leaving D'Artagnan behind sat wrong with him but he also knew they needed to Aramis somewhere to treat him. He was groaning in front of Porthos as they barreled down the road in the pouring rain, trying to find somewhere safe to stop and treat their friend. He hoped D'Artagnan would find them before they hid themselves away but the longer they rode they less likely that seemed and the more listless Aramis became. He could tell Athos was thinking the same thing, his gaze constantly drifting behind them with a concerned frown and a tormented look in his eyes. Neither one of them liked this plan. At all.

As the rain was beginning to finally lighten up, Athos veered off the road. Porthos could just make out the roof of what looked to be a barn of some sort beyond the trees and he thanked whatever Gods were listening. They would have somewhere dry and relatively warm to check over Aramis' injuries and treat whatever they found. He hoped it was nothing serious but with how listless the Spaniard seemed Porthos doubted this was going to be an easy fix.

They were able to tie the horses off in a stall out of the rain and thankfully there was enough hay to feed the horses and lay Aramis on. Athos pulled the medical supplies out of Aramis' saddle bags while Porthos situated him as comfortable as possible on a pile of hay. It was dry and warm inside and Aramis seemed to be coming around a little more the longer they were out of the elements.

"Mis? Mis, can you 'ear me?" Porthos tapped his friend's cheek a few times, trying to elicit some sort of response from the Spaniard.

Blear brown eyes blinked open, filled with pain, "P'thos?"

"Yeah, Mis, it's me. 'Ow ya feeling?"

A low groan met his question as Aramis tried to reposition, "Like I was shot."

Porthos chuckled, "At least your sense of humor is still intact."

Athos joined them with supplies before Aramis could respond and he looked pleased to see Aramis coherent again, "It seems we are going to be the ones to patch _you_ up this time, my friend."

"Don't let Porthos do the stitches," Aramis grumbled lowly, wincing as Athos began to remove his doublet with assistance from Porthos.

"Always worryin' about your scars," the large man teased, carefully removing the sleeve of his friend's shirt.

Once Aramis was stripped from the waist up and the full extent of his injury was revealed Porthos was glad to see there was an exit wound just above Aramis' collarbone. At least they wouldn't have to go digging around for the ball.

He was dragged through corridor after corridor, all of them dimly lit and seemingly unused. They passed multiple doors as well, but didn't slow at all. Finally, he was led into a large chamber with a long table set on the far end. A man sat at the table, sipping wine from a goblet and looking far too pleased with himself.

D'Artagnan was dragged across the room and thrown to his knees in front of the table. He did his nest to sit up as straight as possible, his head held high as he stared directly into the man's eyes unabashedly, "I suppose I have _you_ to thank for my lodgings, then?"

The man took another drink of his wine, before turning his attention to the Musketeer in front of him with a slow smile, "Ah, you're a lively one. The young ones always are."

D'Artagnan remained silent, watching the man intently. He still wasn't sure what was in store for him and while everything in him screamed to mouth off at this condescending moron he also knew what Athos would tell him: head over heart. Every time. So he kept his mouth shut and waited.

"Perhaps you are also smarter than you look. I can see the war you are having with yourself. Should you snap back at me, punishment be damned? Or should you bide your time, keep quiet and see what exactly I have planned?" the man paused now, wiping at his mouth with a cloth napkin and rising, "There's only one thing I want from you Musketeer. And I think you guess what it is."

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes, "And I think you know I'm not going to tell you anything. So let's just skip you trying to convince me it would be in my best interest to help you. I won't betray my brothers or my King."

"You put your brothers before your King, interesting in a Musketeer."

"What are you talking about?"

"You said you wouldn't betray your brothers or your King. If you would choose you King over your brothers you would have said you wouldn't betray your King or your brothers," the man's smile grew now, "You have already told me more than you planned. Where _are_ your brothers, little Musketeer? You would choose them over your liege and yet I do not see them here to help you."

"They have their duties as do I. The King must always come first," D'Artagnan was not going to let this man get in his head and make him question himself or his brothers. There was too much history between him and his brothers. Too much trust for such tricks to have an effect on him.

"We shall see if you continue to say such inane things by the time I have finished," the man was in front of the table now, facing D'Artagnan, "Now, while you asked to skip this part I'm afraid I cannot. Tell me where the letter is and I will let you go. You can return to your brothers and when we kill them I promise you shall be spared."

D'Artagnan snorted, "You obviously do not understand the bonds of brotherhood, Monsieur…?"

"Oh, forgive me, where are my manners? I know who you are and I have yet to introduce myself," the man threw his arms wide as he dipped into a mocking bow, "Monsieur Claude d'Espesse, at your service."

Claude stood back to his full height and suddenly there was anger burning in his eyes as he stepped closer to D'Artagnan, dropping to eye level and grabbing the Gascon's chin in a tight grip, "You will tell me what I want to know, _boy_ , and then I will ensure you never see your precious brothers again."

D'Artagnan smirked, "Good luck with that, Monsieur d'Espesse. I think you will find this _boy_ is harder to break than you think."

Claude chuckled darkly before releasing D'Artagnan's chin with a rough downward motion, "We shall see."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Two chapters in one day, crazy I know. So, another short one I apologize. I just like these spots for ending and I feel like going any further would make this chapter ridiculously long!**

 **Reviews are always appreciated!**

 **(I apologize in advance for any incorrect spots with the injuries. I'm still working on these kinds of scenes!)**

Aramis was woken by the burning pain shooting through his right shoulder and down his arm. He groaned softly, turning his head and cracking open tired eyes. He didn't recognize the room he was in and for a brief moment, he panicked. And then Porthos was there with a small smile on his face and a water skin in his hands, "There ya are, Mis."

Aramis bit his lip to keep from crying out as Porthos raised him slightly off the ground, "How long?"

His voice was scratchy with disuse and he winced slightly at the sound. Porthos placed the skin to his mouth, letting water trickle into the Spaniard's mouth, "'Bout 'alf a day."

Aramis drank greedily for a minute or two, his throat and mouth feeling less like a dessert by the time he was done, "Everyone else?"

Porthos' face darkened and he busied himself situating Aramis so he was propped up against a saddle bag and a pile of hay.

Aramis immediately began to feel his panic returning, "Who?"

Porthos sighed and fell heavily to the ground, his knees drawn up and his forearms resting on them, "D'Artagnan never regrouped with us."

Aramis closed his eyes and tried to ignore all the terrible thoughts suddenly threatening to overwhelm him, "Athos?"

"Out lookin' for any sign of 'im. 'E's hoping D'Artagnan simply couldn' find us and stopped to rest somewhere before continuin' on."

"What do you think?"

Porthos looked away again, clenching his hands, "I think I never should 'ave left 'im to fight on 'is own."

"Knowing D'Artagnan he probably didn't leave you with much of a choice," Aramis knew his words wouldn't help much and Porthos would beat himself up over this until the Gascon was back among them. Maybe even after. The only one who could _hope_ to assuage the guilt was D'Artagnan himself. All the more reason to find him quickly.

The sound of approaching hooves prevented him from answering as Porthos quickly moved to the door of the barn they were sequestered in. He had his pistol in his hand as he peeked around the door and Aramis knew the moment Porthos realized it was Athos approaching and not an enemy. His shoulders relaxed and his holstered his pistol, letting out a small sigh, "Athos is back."

"D'Artagnan?"

Porthos shook his head silently, kicking the door in anger as he moved out of the barn. Aramis leaned into the saddlebags a little more and tried not to think about everything their little brother could be going through.

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D'Artagnan's world was pain. He couldn't remember what life was like _without_ pain anymore. Surely there was a time before his every bone and muscle screamed in agony. Every breath, every heartbeat sent a pulse of pain radiating through his entire body. The worst was his back, flayed and bleeding and burning in the open air. He wanted to drop into blissful oblivion but every time his eyes started to droop or his body went lax in his chains a bucket of icy water was thrown over his head. He would startle, jarring his injuries and nearly sending him reeling once more every time.

Claude enjoyed inflicting pain. Every wince and groan lit a sinister gleam in the man's eyes and made D'Artagnan shiver. He had yet to give the man more than a low groan in response to the wounds being inflicted upon his body but the longer this went on the more likely he was to lose all control of his reactions. And through it all the same question was presented to him over and over and over again, "Where's the letter?"

D'Artagnan raised his head, as he always did, to look Claude in the eyes as he answered, "Go. To. Hell."

 _Crack_.

The whip lashed across his back again and his bit down hard on his lip to hold the scream inside. He knew his back was a mess, he could feel every lash and the warm blood sliding over his skin and dampening the top of his breeches. After their discussion on what D'Artagnan can only assume was a dining room of some sort he was dragged back through the corridors to a new room. One equipped with a hook hanging from the ceiling which his shackles were draped over. His feet barely touched the floor and he struggled to breathe every time he let his body fall lax.

"You cannot hold out forever, Musketeer. Eventually, you will tell me what I want to know. It is up to you how much you suffer before that happens," Claude sounded extremely pleased with himself and D'Artagnan would have liked nothing more than to spit in the man's face but he didn't think he had the energy even for that.

He settled for glaring at the man through sweaty, dirty brown locks and tried to convey his anger and disdain without words.

 _Crack_.

Another lash, another wound leaking blood down his ruined back. Aramis was going to be so upset with him when he saw the wounds. The thought made the corner of his mouth twitch upward slightly and he huffed out a small laugh.

"Is something funny, boy?" Claude grabbed D'Artagnan's chin and forced the Gascon to look at him.

"Just think…thinking about how much," he had to pause and swallow before continuing, "How much my friends…are going to enjoy killing you."

Claude's eyes darkened in anger, "Insolent child."

D'Artagnan was prepared for the slap to his face and even for the blow to his gut which knocked the air from his lungs. What he wasn't prepare for was the hand wrapped around his throat a moment later, cutting off his air supply and making him jerk slightly in his chains as he tried to free himself.

"You _will_ tell me where the letter is," Claude growled lowly, squeezing D'Artagnan's neck even tighter.

By this point, black spots were beginning to dance at the corners of his vision and his lungs were burning painfully in his chest. Just when he thought he would black out Claude released him. D'Artagnan greedily gulped air back into his lungs, coughing harshly and trying to blink away the blackness.

"You're a stubborn one but every man breaks eventually. There's no avoiding it," Claude stepped back now, sighing and looking completely unaffected once again, "Alas, I cannot continue with you tonight. I have other things that need my attention. Lucky for you. I will be back soon though and I hope your answer is more favorable by then."

D'Artagnan couldn't help the relief he felt washing over him. He kept his features schooled, refusing to give Claude the pleasure of seeing how much his words affected him.

Claude patted D'Artagnan on the cheek once before he vanished out the door behind the Gascon.

D'Artagnan didn't let his body go lax until he heard the lock slide into place on the door, his head dropping to his chest as his breathing came in rapid pants. While his back was the worst of his injuries he could feel at least two broken ribs from well-placed blows Claude's men inflicted before the whip was brought out. Along with the broken ribs he was pretty sure he was still concussed and he didn't want to _think_ about the amount of bruising he would have once this was all over. His entire body felt like one giant bruise.

For the first time in a long time, he found himself praying. It was low and in stilted Gascon, but it was still a prayer. A plea. He needed his brothers to find him. While he knew he would never give away their location to any enemy he wasn't sure how long his body could hold up to such abuse.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm back! I am so sorry for the delay with this chapter! I have been** _ **crazy**_ **busy at work and really haven't had the time to write anything. And then when I finally** _ **did**_ **get some time I came down with strep throat for like a week.** _ **But**_ **I am healthy and have just a tiny bit more free time on my hands to give you guys another chapter! It's a pretty long one too! I hope you guys love it and I appreciate any and all feedback you can provide!**

 **FIVE**

They waited another hour before setting out to look for their youngest and to Athos, it was the longest hour of his life. Knowing D'Artagnan was out there, needing their help probably, was driving him mad. But he knew Porthos was right, they needed to give the boy a chance to make his way to them. If they left now they may miss him and spend even more time trying to locate each other when they could be returning to Paris. It didn't make the waiting any easier though and he knew his companions shared his opinion on the matter.

Porthos took to pacing almost immediately after Athos returned without the young Gascon, occasionally kicking at the piles of hay or a door if it was in his way. Athos tried three times to calm Porthos down before giving up and letting him blow off his nervous energy while they waited. Sitting around wasn't something any of them did well.

Even Aramis, wounded as he was, couldn't keep still. He took to cleaning his weapons and organizing his medical kit with an almost terrifying intensity. Athos knew if the Gascon was hurt, they would need his kit to be prepped and ready. Even though Aramis _should_ be resting once again Athos stopped trying to make him after three failed attempts. His brothers were coping however they could and he wouldn't begrudge them their methods.

Unfortunately, his method of coping – drowning himself in wine – wasn't a viable option at the moment. So he settled for fidgeting, something he rarely did, and watching the woods outside without pause. He knew D'Artagnan could handle himself in a fair fight but nothing about their encounters with these bandits so far was _fair_. The boy was a strong swordsman and he knew his way around a musket but he was still young, still relying more on his heart than was safe. Athos only prayed they would reach him before any permanent damage was done to him not only physically but emotionally as well. If he was in the hands of their enemies right now Athos did not doubt the methods the men would use to try and get information out of their youngest. The thought of their hot headed Gascon beaten and tortured set his blood boiling and he could easily understand Porthos' lashing out.

D'Artagnan quickly wormed his way into all of their hearts when he first showed up in Paris and ever since then their love and respect for him only grew. Along with their protectiveness. He was _their_ little brother and may God have mercy on anyone who hurt him.

"Athos, it's been too long. He's not coming," Aramis' voice was pitched low, anger evident in the tone. He was already moving, a fierce determination glowing in his eyes. It seemed his brother's mind was wandering the same path as his own.

He nodded and glanced to Porthos, who was saddling the horses and checking over his own weapons. Feeling Athos' eyes on him the larger man glanced toward him "Pup's gone and gotten 'imself into trouble again."

Athos nodded with a small sigh, trying to stave off the anger boiling just beneath the surface. Whoever had their brother was going to regret _ever_ taking him away from them before they were done.

"Whoever took him is going to find themselves in trouble," Aramis strode passed Athos, loading his medical supplies back into his saddlebags and swinging into his saddle. He was keeping his right arm close to his chest but Athos knew he wouldn't let anything get in the way of rescuing their youngest.

Athos nodded and moved to his own horse, "All for one."

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The next time D'Artagnan woke he was sprawled on a freezing stone floor inside a dimly lit cell. There was a single torch flickering in the far corner next to a large wooden door. A small, barred window was set high in the wall to his left. It was dark outside. He suspected it was late into the night, hours since he parted with his brothers. He wondered if they were looking for him already or if they were heading to Paris to deliver their missive before coming for him. He wouldn't blame them if they completed the mission first, the King must always take priority, but the selfish side of him wished they would choose to rescue him before completing the mission.

He rolled slowly into a seated position, managing to bite back a low groan as his wounds were pulled. That was when he realized he wasn't completely unbound. There was a manacle clamped tightly over his right ankle, chafing painfully against his skin. The manacle was connected to chain which was hooked into the wall behind him. There was maybe three feet of slack which gave him just enough movement to reach a chamber pot to his right. Other than that he couldn't go anywhere.

With a soft sigh he slid back until he was resting gingerly against the cool wall. His back was on fire and the cold stones acted as a balm to the torn flesh. He was exhausted even though he knew he had to have been asleep – _unconscious_ –for at least a few hours. It was just after midday when he was taken and he didn't think he'd been conscious for more than a couple of hours after that. Once the beatings started though he lost track of time pretty quickly. It was hard to worry about how long you were being tortured when it was actually _happening_.

There was the sound of footsteps outside his cell, growing closer with each second. He braced himself, knowing he was about to be subjected to another round of torture more than likely. In that moment, he hoped his brothers continued on to Paris if only to save them from whatever his _host_ had in store for them should they show up to rescue him.

His cell door opened on groaning hinges and Clause was haloed by the flickering light from the corridor beyond. He was flanked by two guards and a third was hanging back just behind him. All of them wore disgustingly satisfied smirks on their faces as they took in his condition. He sat up straighter and levelled the strongest glare he could muster in his current state, "I take it you still haven't located my brothers then? Pity, I could use their company about now and seeing you dead would certainly make this day a little more bearable"

The satisfied look on Claude's face took one a sharper quality as he worked to keep his anger in check, "Jest all you want, boy, I _will_ find them and I can assure you they will be the ones dead on the floor not me."

"Do you _really_ think your men are up to the challenge three fully trained Musketeers pose? I am but one man and I nearly wiped them out. How would they fare against triple that do you think?"

At this Claude's attempts at control vanished and his face morphed and twisted until it hardly looked human anymore, "You think yourself so _clever_. The men you fought on the road represent a mere _tenth_ of those I have here. They were scouts, nothing more. Your _brothers_ will not make it passed the front gates before they are defeated. You are not going to be rescued Musketeer. If you give up now and at least tell me which of your brothers _carries_ the letters I am looking for I can spare you the same treatment you received yesterday. I may even have my men provide you with food and water."

His stomach grumbled at the thought of food and he was suddenly very aware of how scratchy and dry his throat was. But not even the thought of relieving those needs was enough to make him turn on his brothers. He would die before letting harm befall them. He held Claude's gaze steadily as he responded, "Never. I will die before betraying them to _anyone_."

Claude sighed, going through another one of the strange mood swings D'Artagnan was starting to recognize, and shook his head sadly, "Very well. Take him."

Two of the guards moved forward and grabbed him roughly by his arms while the other unlocked the manacle on his ankle. He was dragged from the room and while he wanted nothing more than to fight back the moment he was forced into movement his back reignited with fiery pain and it took everything he had to simply remain conscious.

He was brought back into the same room as before and shackles were clamped over his raw wrists once more. He couldn't hold back the small wince when the cold metal was secured and his arms yanked above his head to loop over the hook. It only took a few moments for warm blood to begin sliding down his arms again, the wounds on his wrists from before reopened. It seemed his life was to be one of pain and nothing else while he was held here. Pain he could take though, so long as his brothers were left alone.

"So, child, let us start again. Will you tell me where the letter is?" Claude sounded like he knew the answer as he wrapped the whip around his hand and circled his captive.

"Never," D'Artagnan was proud of how strong his voice came out, no trace of the pain he was feeling leaking through. Athos would have been proud.

Claude let out a long-suffering sigh and let the whip uncurl to its full length, "Pity."

He drew his arm back and lashed out sharply. D'Artagnan very nearly screamed at the unexpected pain over his chest. He knew he would be whipped but he never imagined Claude would attack his chest and not just his back.

If the first lash hurt the second was agonizing. Blood ran from the wounds in thin rivulets and began to dampen the tops of his breeches. He huffed out a short breath, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to manage the pain radiating from his wounds. How he wished he was back in Paris with Constance and his brothers, away from the torture Claude was intent to rain down on him.

"Where is it?"

He remained silent, leveling an icy glare at his captor and torturer.

Another lash to his chest. He couldn't hold back the low grunt this time, his eyes clenched shut and his breath coming in ragged pants. The whip left a bleeding red mark over one of his broken ribs and the added fiery pain on top of the throbbing of the broken bone was nearly unbearable. His head was spinning now as he struggled to hold off the blackness at the edge of his vision.

"No sleeping yet, Musketeer. There is still much punishment you have yet to endure," Claude sneered, yanking the Gascon's head up by his hair

D'Artagnan held the cold, grey eyes in front of him as he spat in the face they belonged to, "Go to hell."

That earned him more blows than he could count to his already damaged ribs and a few to his surely concussed head. By the end of the onslaught he was gasping for breath and his head hung limply on his chest. His whole body was lax and the weight on his wrists was nearly unbearable but he couldn't find the energy to stand back up. Breathing was becoming more difficult as well, the longer he remained limp, but he didn't think it mattered all that much right then. His chest was throbbing and burning and he was fairly certain at least two more ribs were broken and if he didn't have a concussion before he certainly had one now.

"Hm, I may have gone too far. You truly try my patience, boy. I will leave you here to rethink your answer. You look so comfortable after all," with that Claude strode from the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

D'Artagnan allowed one, long groan to slip passed his lips as his was left in the dimly lit room on his own. He had no doubt there was a guard posted just outside the door but he could care less at this point about being heard. He was in pain and he wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to keep up the strong façade in front of Claude. He wished dearly for his brothers in that moment. More than he wished for water or food.

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Athos, Porthos and Aramis rode hard until they reached the point they were attacked and then they set to trying to find some trace of which direction D'Artagnan went once they split up. Unfortunately the rain was making it difficult to track the Gascon's movements and many times they had to stop and loop back after losing their little brother's trail. From what they could tell though D'Artagnan led the bandits on a wild goose chase through the woods before beginning to loop back around. Athos was proud as they followed his trail to find D'Artagnan didn't take a direct path back toward the road, instead winding around the woods and doubling back a few times to confuse his followers. He was becoming better at losing tails the longer he was with them.

Unfortunately, they could easily see the moment their young Gascon's luck ran out. They were in a small clearing when suddenly there wasn't just one set of hoof prints but six. Five surrounding the sixth. Apparently there were even more bandits than they originally thought lying in wait for the Musketeers. D'Artagnan was a good fighter but even he didn't stand a chance against five opponents alone especially when it appeared he was caught from behind by at least three more.

They were able to pick up the trail all six made from there without too much difficulty. The rain must have let up around this point, the tracks left by the horses more noticeable the further they went. The trail they were following led from the direction they originally came, away from Paris and toward Nice once more. Eventually the trees around them began to thin out and they could just make out the shadow of a structure ahead of them. It had to be late into the night now and they could faintly see the light of torches coming from the building.

They came to a stop before the trees ended and dismounted, tying the horses to a nearby copse of trees and moving forward on foot. There were windows lit up within the structure and as they approached on silent feet Athos could make out a thick wall and sturdy gates surrounding the grand manor. Torches were lit atop the walls and silhouettes moved back and forth in regular patterns. Guards.

"I imagine our young Gascon is in there somewhere," Aramis murmured softly when they were back within the trees.

Athos nodded, his eyes never straying from the imposing structure in front of them, "The only question is, how do we get him out of there?"

"Knock on the front door?" Aramis suggested with a smirk.

Athos threw Aramis a look, "When has that ever worked in our favor?"

"There's a first time for everything. Besides, if they do have D'Artagnan in there they'll be more than happy to have us show up don't you think? We have what they're looking for after all," Aramis reasoned.

"Or they think we do at least," Athos agreed.

Porthos frowned, "What do ya mean?"

Athos shook his head, "Better you don't know the details. The letter has been moved, that's all you need to know. It may keep you safer if things go sideways once we're inside."

"So we _are_ knocking on the door then?" Aramis questioned.

Athos let out a long sigh and nodded, "We don't stand a chance against that many men and they appear to actually be decent guards. We won't be able to just sneak inside without one of them seeing us. At least if we go in willingly we might be able to get a look at the layout of the manor before we need to escape. Besides, I doubt he'll be expecting us to just knock on his door and waltz inside. If we're lucky, he'll believe we don't know D'Artagnan is here."

"And if he's smart, we're all done for but at least we'll die together."

"Always the optimist, 'Mis," Porthos grunted as he clipped his spare pistol to his weapons belt.

Athos and Aramis both armed themselves as well. While they could only assume their weapons would be confiscated rather quickly it would be better to have them inside to be retaken should the need for a violent escape rise.

Once they were all satisfied they were as ready as they could be they approached the manor on foot, believing it safer to leave the horses free for when they needed to get away. It would be easy enough to explain away their absence. It was common for horses to turn up missing after rain storms and never show up again. It would hopefully make them appear less threatening as well.

"Halt!" one of the guards spotted them as they approached, calling out the warning and raising a musket in their direction, "State your business."

Athos raised both hands to shoulder level to show he was unarmed, "Our horses ran off in the storms earlier. We merely seek shelter for a night and perhaps horses if you have any to spare. You will be greatly compensated."

"Who are you?"

"We're King's Musketeers on business for the Crown. We were traveling to Nice when the storms struck and took shelter in an abandoned barn. Our horses disappeared at some point during our break."

There was no response for a moment as another guard joined the first, their bodies silhouetted against the torches as they talked amongst themselves. It was another minute or two before the gates were opened on squealing hinges and another, well-dressed, man stepped forward. He dipped into a low bow and motioned toward the manor behind him, "My master has agreed to let you lodge with us for the night. Horses will be provided in the morning for you as well. You weapons, however, must be handed over before entering the home. You can retrieve them in the morning before you depart. Phillippe will place them in the armory until then."

They approached the gates, Athos dipping his head to the man as they passed. He reluctantly removed his weapons belt and handed it over to a young boy who looked antsy as he bounced from foot to foot, "You have our thanks. What is you master's name, so I may thank him properly for his hospitality?"

"Lord Claude d'Espesse resides here. He overlooks these grounds and several other smaller farms in the area," the man replied in a cool tone. He was older with wispy gray hair pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck and dull grey eyes. Everything about him spoke of sophistication and pride, he was obviously the most trusted of his master's servants. Once all of their weapons were removed he led them toward the front doors with quick, efficient steps.

"We shall have to thank Lord d'Espesse properly then. It is very generous of him to open his home to us."

"Anything for the King's Musketeers. Our Lord is nothing if not loyal to the King," the man led them through a large foyer and down a long corridor that had seen better days before they came across a wide opening leading into a large dining room. A table spanned the length of the opposite wall and in the center a man sat in a tall chair with a goblet and decanter of wine sitting before him. He appeared to be middle aged, in good health and most certainly lethal with the sword at his hip. He practically oozed confidence as well. His jet black hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck and his blue eyes were sharp, catching every detail while his face retained a calm façade. Athos had no doubt this man was responsible for their missing fourth and more than likely he already knew _exactly_ who they were and what they were carrying.

He stood as they entered, spreading his arms wide with a smile, "Welcome, Monsieurs. It pleases me I can offer assistance in your hour of need."

"We thank you, Lord d'Espesse. You have indeed been a great help to us tonight," Athos said with a small dip of his head when they came to a stop in front of the table.

d'Espesse waved off Athos' words as he came around to the front of the table, "It is no matter, Monsieurs…?"

"I am Athos, these are my brothers Porthos and Aramis. We are King's Musketeers."

"Musketeers? It is a pleasure to meet you all. Do you require food? I'm afraid the cook has already retired for the night but I'm sure there's some bread and meat in the kitchen I could have the servants bring out for you."

"Thank you, it would be greatly appreciated."

"Of course," d'Espesse looked to the man who led them in, "Henri, have Jaques and Marie bring in some food and wine for our guests and make sure rooms are prepared for them."

The man, Henri, bowed and stepped from the room through a side door.

"Now, how did three King's Musketeers come to be at my humble home on this night?"

Aramis spoke now, stepping forward next to Athos, "We were attacked on the road and when we stopped to recover our horses ran. Unfortunately we could not find them and had to continue on foot until we came across your home here."

"Attacked? By who?!"

"Bandits. More than likely they were trying to take whatever valuables we may have been carrying. I do not believe they realized we were Musketeers until it was too late. We do not carry much in the way of goods and unfortunately we were forced to kill them to get away," Athos stepped in again, easily weaving a tale for the man before him.

"Bandits?! That's awful! I am sorry to hear such a thing," d'Espesse shook his head sadly and sighed, "It is better it was trained Musketeers they set on rather than an untrained farmer. At least you were able to dispatch them and hopefully spare others a worse fate."

"Agreed, Monsieur," Aramis nodded with a small smile.

Porthos had yet to say anything, his eyes constantly darting around the room, taking everything in without drawing too much attention to himself. There weren't any guards in the room with them but the large window to the side showed more of the wall along with at least four more guards on top of the four out front. Who knew how many there actually were patrolling the perimeter and he could faintly hear voices carrying from within the manor. No telling how many men were hidden within the walls around them and they still had no idea where D'Artagnan might be.

Henri returned as Porthos was mulling over these thoughts, two more servants trailing behind him carrying plates piled high with food while Henri brought in another decanter of wine and three more goblets. Everything was placed on the table and d'Espesse motioned for them all to sit as he retook his seat.

The three Musketeers moved to the table and settled into chairs, thanking the two servants and gratefully digging into the meal. None of them drank much though, needing to remain sharp if they were to find their brother.

"So, tell me, what are King's Musketeers doing all the way out here? I thought you lot tended to stay closer to Paris with the King?" d'Espesse's voice sounded nonchalant and lacking any real curiosity but they could all hear the edge underneath his words.

"Unfortunately, we are not at liberty to discuss the King's business," Athos replied smoothly with the appropriate amount of apology in his voice.

"Ah, of course, my apologies. My curiosity got the better of me it seems," d'Espesse smiled easily and tipped his goblet toward them, "Please, enjoy the food. Once you've finished Henri can show you to your rooms. I'm afraid I have other business to attend to before I retire for the evening. Horses will be ready for you in the morning along with enough provisions for your trip home."

"Your generosity will not be forgotten, monsieur. I assure you," Athos dipped his head as their host smiled and exited the room through the same side door Henri used earlier.

Henri was standing to the left of the door, staring straight ahead and barely paying them any attention. Athos doubted he would tell them anything about this place or its _guests_ if asked. No doubt he was more loyal to his Lord than the King and they were disrupting his master's business.

They stayed for a few more minutes, picking at their food more than actually eating. They were all worried about their youngest brother and now, so close to finding him, they couldn't stand being separated from him much longer.

Athos stood first, "Henri, do you mind showing us to our room now? I think we are all exhausted and in need of plenty of rest."

Henri bowed and motioned toward the doors they originally entered through, "This way Monsieurs. The Lord has prepared one of the larger guest chambers for you to stay. You will each have your own bed if you don't mind sharing a single room."

"Of course," the three of them followed Henri from the room and down more corridors until they stopped at another set of double doors.

On the other side three beds were pushed against the right wall and a large wardrobe was placed against the left wall. There was a window across from the doors with a basin and pitcher of water next to it. Another door was set into the wall beside the wardrobe. There were candles lit around the room and a few torches on the walls. It was a fairly pleasant room and had this not been enemy territory Athos imagined they would enjoy it.

"If you require anything there should be a servant nearby at any point. Simply ask and they will fetch whatever you require. The pitcher has water, if you wish to wash your face and there is a loo through that door there," Henri's tone was professional as he motioned around the room, "If you do not need anything else of me, I shall retire for the night."

"We should be fine for now, thank you," Aramis said with a smile, placing his hat on the bed and moving further into the room.

Henri bowed once more and closed the doors as he left.

Once alone, the three Musketeers quickly converged in the middle of the room, settling with Athos on the edge of one bed while Porthos and Aramis settled on the edge of the other. Porthos glanced to Athos, "So what now?"

"Now, we wait until the house is quiet and try to locate D'Artagnan. The quieter we can be the better it will be for us. There's no telling what shape D'Artagnan is in at this point. More than likely he is being kept below in a cell somewhere. Unfortunately there's no telling how many rooms there are beneath us or how hard it is to navigate."

Aramis hummed softly, "There was a stairway on our way here. It goes down below. I think it was only one or two corridors away, shouldn't be too hard to gain access to without drawing attention."

Athos nodded, "I noticed it as well. It's our best bet at this point. Porthos, how many guards have you counted so far?"

"At least eight on the walls. Three I've seen inside. Not sure 'ow many more I didn' see," Porthos ground out, "'e's got a lot of men on 'is side."

"Probably very well paid too, by the looks of things," Aramis commented, "Why would a Lord turn against the King like this?"

"There's no telling. More money, perhaps he thinks the King wronged him at some point. I imagine whatever is in that letter would explain everything," Athos shrugged and raked a hand through his hair, "Once we get D'Artagnan actually escaping will be the difficult part. We'll have to get him passed the gates and to the horses if we stand a chance of surviving this. I can only hope he's well enough to walk on his own or this could become very difficult."

"You mean _more_ difficult? The guards here are not just for show, they do their job well. They will not be easy to slip passed unnoticed," Aramis was leaning back a little now, one hand resting over the injury to his shoulder.

Porthos nodded his agreement, "Their patrols are regular from what I could tell, which wasn' much without proper lighting."

"Unfortunately we don't have much time to observe their actions. I doubt our _host_ plans to let us leave here in the morning as it is. We'll have to go for d'Artagnan first, the armory was out by the stables and it's too risky to go out in the open before we have him. We'd never make it back inside," Athos wasn't overly fond of their current situation but he couldn't see how they could improve it any. This man had their youngest and he refused to leave here without him at their side.

Agreed, they all stood and began snuffing out the torches and candles around the room. They would need to utilize whatever shadows they could and move swiftly through the manor. They had no weapons left between them which meant and confrontations would already have them at a disadvantage. Athos only hoped they could make it to d'Artagnan and then to the armory without meeting any guards or servants along the way. Of course, with their luck he doubted that would be the case.

Their entry into the corridor was simple. Aramis stuck his head out, giving the passageway a quick once over before deigning it clear of any prying eyes. All three of them slipped out of the room and quickly found a nearby alcove to gather in. They moved like this, darting from alcove to alcove and shadow to shadow, until they reached the stairwell leading deeper into the bowels of the manor. Surprisingly, they met no resistance. Athos wasn't sure if that was lucky or not though. For all they knew, this could be a setup by d'Espesse. He had to know they would come for their young friend the first chance they had.

There wasn't much time to dwell on such thoughts though. If this wasn't a trap and they were indeed just this lucky, they needed to keep moving before that luck ran out. So down the stairs they went, knowing there was no avoiding a fight if someone were to spot them now. The stairway was narrow, barely fitting one of them at a time, there would be no slipping passed guards.

Athos took the front, Aramis just behind and Porthos brought up the rear as they traveled down, their steps as silent as they could make them. For the first time, Athos was actually grateful they didn't have their weapons with them. They were much quieter without the clanging of swords and guns at their hips and while he felt naked without them at least for this portion of their escape it was useful.

They came to the bottom of the stairs without issue and at this point, Athos was growing more and more certain this was some sort of trap. He didn't think d'Espesse would keep the stairwell to his dungeon or the main landing completely unguarded. He didn't seem like a stupid man. He glanced back at his brothers and saw the same apprehension he felt mirrored on their faces. _Now_ _would be a good time to have our weapons_ , he thought bitterly.

There was no turning back anymore though so with a deep breath and a foreboding feeling growing in his gut, he led his brothers further into d'Espesse's dungeon.

 **So? Thoughts? Opinions? I know I left a kind of tiny cliffhanger there at the end but I want the next part to all be one big chapter so…yeah! I feel like it's kinda rushed at the end but I'm also really bad about being really hard on myself so that could just be me. I'm pretty sure I rewrote some of this like four times before deciding I liked it enough to share it with ya'll! Anywho, I hope to have the next chapter posted sometime in the next couple of weeks (I know, not very set but it's the best I can do with my job). I hope you enjoyed!**

 **Until next time,**

 **Tempest**


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